Perfume and Me: I bet I know what you’re wearing

“Go on then, what am I wearing?”

Nine times out of ten I will get this right. The times I don’t, I am very disappointed in myself.

I think this ‘skill’ – if it can be called that – comes from time spent in perfume departments, and also not being able to let strangers pass if they smell nice. I have to know what it is so I can spray it and obsess about it from then on. 

One male fragrance I never fail to identify is Givenchy Play/Play Intense. With notes of my favourite ingredients, bergamot - at the top - and, vetiver - at its base - with amyris, pink pepper and coffee in the middle, I cannot get enough of it. 

For example, the first time I encountered it, I was at the theatre with a male friend of mine a few years ago. He smelt incredible. So much so that he went from being someone I’d only ever thought of as a friend to someone I suddenly found very attractive indeed. Powerful stuff, fragrance. 

However, lucky for him, I managed to control myself but it is a scent that I insist on being a permanent fixture in my boyfriend’s collection (which, of course, has expanded rather significantly since we got together), not just so he can wear it, but me too. And I get a lot of compliments when I do.

However, my love of Givenchy Play has also led to one particularly embarrassing situation. It is the fragrance of choice by someone I work with, not at my company, but at UKTV. Years ago I realised he – David – wore Play, and smugly announced, “I know what you’re wearing: Givenchy Play!” I was right, of course. David was impressed, I think. Any normal person would have left it there but not this perfume enthusiast, oh no. Because I love this scent, I feel that everyone else should know about it, and so at a work event, where free wine and cocktails flow, but alcohol-soaking canapés are scarce, I insisted, quite passionately/forcefully that people sniff David because “he smells amaaaaazing.”

And so now when I smell Play, I get bergamot, coffee, vetiver and an underlying note of...embarrassment.

Perfume and Me: I'm sure that girl is always in here

I cannot walk through a department store without working my way round the entire perfumery first. In fact, that’s usually the sole purpose of my visit – that, and torturing myself by pawing the Mulberry bags I want but can’t afford.

I can walk into my local House of Fraser and know exactly where to find my favourites; Creed, back left, Aqua Di Parma, also back left, Tom Ford, again back left, Bulgari, back right. However, you only have to look in the direction of the Creed counter and five heavily made-up assistants are all over you, protecting their most expensive brand.

Looking back, at the peak of my tester-spraying addiction, there was a time I thought I might very well get barred from entering Debenhams. It wasn’t my fault, I had to walk through to get to the gym. Well, I didn’t have to, but it was a short cut, in my defence, Your Honour. So in my tracksuit, hair scraped back, I’d stealthily flit between displays, picking up fragrances I knew would still be with me two sweaty hours later; Givenchy Play Pour Homme (much more on this one later); Chanel Allure Homme Sport; Emporio Armani He, (also much more on my male heavy choices to come), and I'd adopt a facial expression that I hoped made the loitering sales assistant assume I was merely a perfume novice, amazed by all the never-before-seen offerings in front me. I’d look at one of my old favourites like I’d never seen it before and engage my best acting skills (I worked on cop show The Bill, I know how it's done, OK?), “Oooh what’s this? I wonder if it is new? Mmm smells nice, think I’ll have a spray(s).” Fine, no problem.

Two hours later, post-gym sesh, I’d re enter Debenhams (because it was the quickest way back to my car…honestly!), tracksuit swapped for skinny jeans, tight t-shirt where my hoody had been, and my unwashed, scraped back hair, now washed, straightened and shiny. And so it began again, because surely they’d never recognise me from my previous spraying spree? And they probably wouldn't have had this ritual not taken place four times a week. It was only a matter of time before I was rumbled. 

Perfume and Me: Do You Actually Work Here?

“Er…well, no. But I should.”

Why I have never worked in a perfume department I have no idea. I’d be brilliant. And it’s not often I say that about myself. But give me a 20-30-something male or female and I’d find them at least three new fragrances they like. I can back this up.

Walking through a department store, stopping to have a quick spray myself, I spot a young dad, with his son, deliberating over which aftershave to buy.  “Which one do you think I should get?” he asks his 4-year old. Whoa, step aside little boy! All but elbowing the child out of the way, there I am at daddy’s side ready to offer my advice, wanted or not.

Luckily, he liked my recommendation and off he went to pay. But before he went, he looked at me, and asked, “Do you actually work here?” “Er, no,” I replied slightly sheepish, suddenly feeling like he’s looking round for my carer. “Well, I think you should, you know what you’re talking about.” Phew. 

Fragrance and Me: You Can’t Like Them All

What is it about those things in life that, as humans, we just cannot resist, despite that ‘thing’ making us feel sick? Craning our necks to see an accident, watching someone picking their nose on the train, or continuing to sniff something even though we know we don’t like it.

There is one fragrance in particular that has this effect on me. It is a popular, long-standing brand, and as I have no interest in bad mouthing any scent in my Blog, because it is a matter of personal taste, it shall remain nameless. Millions of women love it; I’m just not one of them.

Despite having sprayed it numerous times, to check and double check I really didn’t like it – because just like with food, it pains me to not like everything – but just as I gave up with spinach, I’ve had to admit defeat with this too.

And so this one particular occasion I tried to appreciate it’s heady notes, was to be my last. Having left my dad and sister by the pool on a family holiday to Mallorca, my mum and I strolled into the town and quickly sniffed out a perfume store. You know those amazing shops that sell everything, including forgotten brands of yesteryear? Bright, shiny, row after row of perfume. Heaven. And there it was, in all its rich, overpowering, vom-inducing glory. And so, naturally, I sprayed it on my wrist. I still did not like it.

Unable to leave such a shop without making a purchase, I come away with a bottle of Kiton by Aramis. And so we carried on strolling round the town, when I decided it was time for another aldehyde-heavy hit. Stomach churned, head thumped. I repeated this over and over, it was the itch I could not stop scratching. And, boy, coupled with the blazing Mallorcan sun, did it make me feel ill.

In a weird twist, my best friend Fi shares my feelings on this particular fragrance and so, way back in 1998, after our regular Thursday night shift at River Island, we’d cut through the now sadly defunct Allders of Croydon en route to the pub. Leaving via the impressive perfume department for a quick spritz of Moschino Cheap and Chic, we’d both grab a bottle of the unnamed offender and quickly become locked in a perfume stand-off, threatening to contaminate the other. Fifteen years later, we still feel the need to text each other when we get a whiff of it on someone.

I love how perfume is so powerful, it evokes such old memories…even if those memories are accompanied by a dry heave. 

Fragrance and Me: Or should that be Fragrance and My Dad?

“Here, Lula…,” orders my dad. Lula, Loops, Lula Belula, Luluabel. I answer to all of the aforementioned names. “Yep?” I respond half heartedly walking into my parent’s bedroom. “What smellies should I wear?” Smellies is my dad’s word for aftershave/fragrance. I’m now a lot less half-hearted, and suddenly come over all professional. “Where are you going? Who’ll be there? Is it posh? Is uncle so-and-so going?” He has to smell the best.

My dad has a very impressive fragrance collection for a man of 60 – Bleu de Chanel, Armani Code, Boss Bottled Night, Abercrombie & Fitch Fierce, Chanel Allure, YSL’s La Nuit de L’Hommme – and as much as I like to think I am the family fragrance expert, he has been known to pick out a few gems. Returning from a reluctant shopping trip with my mum, he’ll present his neck, “Smell.” Sometimes I’d recognise it, other times he’d bring a new scent into my life. What I’m not sure about is who influences who? Did I get my innate love of fragrance from my dad, or have I introduced him to it? Either way, I like that he, too, gets excited by it. I have an older sister, but it seems I got all the perfume-loving genes. She’s just not that bothered by it. Weirdo.

When I lived at home, my dad loved my advice and approval, but what he wasn’t so appreciative of was finding his ever-diminishing levels of Chanel Allure Sport. I don’t adhere to gender rules when it comes to fragrance, in fact, at one point I think I owned more male than female scents. What my dad never realised was that every birthday and Christmas when I’d present him with a shiny new bottle of 'smellies', I was really buying it for myself, knowing this was the only way I could justify ‘treating myself’ to a new fragrance! Clever, huh? Doesn’t work now I’ve finally left home, damn being 32 and having to grow up.

However, there was one particularly special fragrance I bought my dad for his birthday that I wouldn’t touch, and certainly not because I didn’t like it. The citrusy yet woody gloriousness that is Creed Himalaya. Knowing how much he loved it (and he’d discovered it without my help) but that he’d never buy it – not at that price – made me so excited about getting it for him. So one afternoon, in Liberty (it had to be purchased somewhere special) I handed over £86 – more than I’ve ever spent on perfume for myself, but still, knowing how much dad would love it, made it worth it. 

So when February 24^th came along, I was all, “Open mine dad, it’s the best present. Ever.” And as he caught the first glimpse of the silver box, he stopped, “I know what this is, Lula, you didn’t? That’s too expensive” “Just open it, I want a spray!” And so he did. And as he pulled out the 30ml bottle, I actually felt embarrassed. It was more like a sample! Even my dad commented on how much smaller it was than he’d expected! “That’s 86 quids worth dad!!” “Well, in that case, keep your mitts off it.” He replied. And, although it wasn’t easy, I never touched it. But thankfully House of Fraser stocks it so I get my Creed fix most weekends.

Fragrance and Me: This Is Where It Began

“I promise, mummy, I didn’t touch Aunty Anna’s perfume.” But the overpowering smell of Chanel No5 told her I wasn’t being totally honest. In fact, the truth was, I’d emptied her entire bottle over my special Boxing Day party dress. This was no accident. I had very expensive taste. I was five. My mum was not impressed; she had to replace it.

See, my love of perfume started from a very young age. My first scent was Estée Lauder Beautiful, which, might I add, was a very sophisticated choice for an under-10. Shortly after that, along with the majority of pre/early-teen schoolgirls, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a bottle of Exclamation with its super cool bottle, made to look like an…exclamation mark. Clever.

And so it continued until today, aged 32, I have a perfume collection to rival that of any department store. On that subject, I spend a lot of time in perfume departments, on the hunt for new releases, and taking a trip down memory lane with a spray of something like Moschino Cheap And Chic. Upon leaving, and feeling slightly nauseous from over-spraying, I declare not to be so overzealous next time, but just like a hungover 30-something, claiming never to drink again, I know my pledge is fruitless. Surrounded by so much loveliness, I am powerless. You can imagine me in Duty Free.

I can’t tell you why I love fragrance as much as I do or where this unwavering passion comes from, simply because I don’t know. It’s often been noted that I can’t use anything without smelling it first; a glass, a tea towel, clothes, bags, new shoes. As I type this, I’m thinking, as might you be, a trip to a therapist could be in order. Pronto. Its all very OCD, isn’t it? But, it's just so in-built in me. I have a strong sense of smell and get immense pleasure from beautiful scents. From Coco Mademoiselle, to washing drying on the line in the summer sun. It excites me. But this over active sense of smell has its downsides. Coupled with having a face that refuses to disguise my true feelings, I find myself, in the gym/on the train/in the pub, all but shouting at the offender, “how is it possible to smell THAT bad?!” No need for words, my face says exactly that.

So, this is my Blog. And it’s all about my lifelong love of perfume. And why am I writing it? Because I could talk about fragrance day and night, but am yet to find anyone to listen beyond an hour or so!